


The Wild Hunt

by Teej



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 18:10:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6294526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teej/pseuds/Teej
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Caught in a raging storm, what else could go wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wild Hunt

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a Christmas gift fic in 2014.

Several long minutes passed while Arthur struggled to regain his senses. A myriad of things where crashing over him, leaving him confused, feeling like he was waking up from a bad dream. Until he realized he actually was in the bad dream. Cold, wet, shivering and face-first on the forest floor, he felt the sting of cold rain hit his cheeks, further rousing him as his hearing registered the howling of the wind in the tree tops. 

The aching in his head let him know -in no uncertain terms- that it was displeased with him. He groaned, reaching up to rub his face before realizing his gloves where coated in leaf litter and dirt. Where was Merlin?

He pushed his aching body up, shaking his head to try and clear the jumble of sensation hitting him. Gaining his feet, he staggered forward, bracing himself with a nearby tree as he looked around, unfamiliar with his surrounding. Where was he?

“Merlin?” He tried calling out, his voice gravelly with the effort. Clearing his throat he tried again, only louder and more demanding, “Merlin?”

Shaking his head again, he glanced up, remembering they had been caught in a storm. Though the wind howled through the trees, the rain still driven and bitingly cold, it was slacking off. What the hell had happened?

“Merlin!” Arthur snapped, scowling in frustration, unable to place where he was at, and for that matter, there seemed to be an enormous chunk of memory missing. Where were their horses?

A sound distracted him, slightly unnatural, causing the Prince to frown in confusion. It sounded like someone in pain.

“'Bout time you woke up,” Merlin's voice, sounding both weary and scolding, got Arthur's attention. He looked around, unable to see his servant. 

“Merlin? Now's not the time to be joking around!” Arthur snapped, turning around, trying to locate the other. “Where are you and what the hell is going on?!” It was getting gloomier out as the day conceded to the night.

“I'm over here,” Merlin replied. 

Arthur turned, his focus on a small copse of trees close by. Heaving an irritated sigh, he made his way towards them. “I'm soaking wet Merlin. Why isn't there a fire going? Where are the horses?What the hell have you been d...”

Rounding the trees, Arthur came to an abrupt stop and stared at the scene before him in a mixture of irritation turning slowly to horror.

“I've just been laying around doing nothing while you took a nap,” Merlin grumbled from where he appeared to be lounging against a tree.

Only he wasn't lounging. 

Sitting at an awkward angle, Merlin had leaned back against the trunk, one leg bent under him in an attempt at support. His hands were clamped at his side. Head hanging down and dripping water, he raised his gaze to look balefully at Arthur. Protruding from his side where his hands were clenched was the shaft of an enormous black arrow.

“Sorry about the fire, I've been a little preoccupied...” Merlin managed to retort, before a wince of pain escaped his lips and his head drooped.

“W...” Arthur began to ask, before being galvanized into action. He hurried forward, dropping to his knees. “Who the hell did this?!” He hissed, reaching down to turn Merlin towards him, to examine the wound.

“No!” Merlin snapped, sharply. “Not yet...” he gasped suddenly when Arthur tried to move his hands. “Not yet!”

“Merlin! We've got to get it out,” Arthur replied, realizing Merlin was just as soaked as he was.

“I'm stuck to the tree, you clotpole!” Merlin snapped. He sagged, the waste of energy draining him. He shook his head, letting it drop. “You'll have... you’ll have to break the shaft... But we need a fire before we can do anything.” The effort of speaking left him panting. He managed to look up at the prince, seeing the realization dawning on his face. “I'm not...” he gasped, “going anywhere.”

“Where are the horses?” Arthur asked, realizing Merlin was right.

“I... don't know...” Merlin managed to say, his head dropping once again. “Long gone. It's been hours.”

“Hours!? What happened? How'd we...” Arthur asked, his field skills kicking into sudden gear, looked around, searching. 

“I'll tell you later... there's a more urgent need just now...” Merlin panted, wincing, a small squeak of pain escaping his lips.

“Right.” Arthur scrambled to his feet, plans falling into place, reasserting control over himself. “Try not to move!” He snapped, 

“Like I could.... if I tried?” Merlin managed to retort. Arthur just scowled, realizing he was in for a chore in the falling darkness to get a fire going in the midst of a dwindling, drenching storm.

Urgency and long honed skills brought him success. Before too long, Arthur had a small, if somewhat smoky, fire going from damp timber he had found under fallen trees and other places left untouched by the rain. He'd also managed to rig a rough lean-to, shelter from the rain which seemed to be trying to turn to snow, or worse, ice.

He glanced constantly at Merlin, immobile where he was fixed to the tree, his hands clutching the arrow where it had entered his side and pinned him in place. Despite the cold, the slackening rain and being soaked, beads of sweat had broken out at Merlin's temples, a strong indication of the enormous inner struggle he was going through to stay in place, in an uncomfortable position, no doubt losing blood and apparently waiting on Arthur to come around to help him.

Arthur shook himself, satisfied the fire would keep going and went back over to Merlin, slipping his hunting knife from its hiding place, his mind full of a thousand questions. With the firelight he could see the blood on Merlin's fingers and soaked into the jacket and shirt underneath. He was appalled at how pale he'd become.

“Merlin..?” Arthur asked looking at him, worried. Merlin appeared to be asleep but Arthur knew he was just trying to conserve his strength for what was to come. As he roused himself, Arthur studied the arrow, confusion about events still foremost in his mind, not to mention the great chunk of lost memory. 

The arrow was enormous, frankly bigger than any he could recall, and the fletch was made of pitch black feathers. He frowned, not knowing a single individual who made his arrows this way.

“Not quite... as easy... as it looks, huh?” Merlin gasped, offering a weak smile and nodding at the campfire.

“I've made plenty of fires on my own before you came along,” Arthur growled. “Some in ever worse conditions than these.”

“Before we do this... we need yarrow... to staunch the blood,” Merlin fixed a pain filled gaze at Arthur, seeing the Price getting ready to notch the arrow. “There was some... in my pack.”

“The horses are missing, I've no idea where they are, much less what all has happened. Who shot you Merlin? How'd...”

“Later...” Merlin said. “I'll tell you later... We'll have to cauterize the wound... front and back. Good thing... it went all the way through.” He offered the prince a weak smile.

“Only you could find something good to say about this mess.” Arthur grumbled. 

“Just be quick.” Merlin said. Arthur gazed at him a moment and nodded.

Reaching down, he used his knife to score a notch in the arrow's shaft, inches above Merlin's fingers, the movement cause him to bite down on a groan of pain, clenching his teeth and hissing.

“Don't you go passing out on me.” Arthur growled.

“And have you calling me a girl? Never!” Merlin managed to gasp back. Arthur snorted, gripping the arrow under the notch, along with Merlin's own grip he used to his other hand to snap the arrow in two. Not wanting to prolong the pain he knew his servant was in, Arthur reached around behind him, feeling where the arrow was protruding from Merlin's back. 

Merlin, trying to control the pain, was panting at the effort as Arthur got a firm grip on him.

“On three,” Arthur warned. Merlin barely had time to draw a deep breath when Arthur, quickly, steadily pulled him free of the shaft.

There was no escaping the cry of pain that erupted from Merlin as Arthur neatly levered him over his shoulder and turned towards the lean to.

“I thought.. you were.. going to.. count!” Merlin protested as pain and relief wracked his body.

“Better not to,” Arthur gasped under the weight. “Can't have you all tensed up.” 

He lowered Merlin to the ground, who had gone utterly limp. Arthur looked at him in alarm, seeing Merlin's chest heaving for air as he panted through his gritted teeth trying to suppress the groans of pain.

With the assurance of years of field medicine to his practice, Arthur swiftly examined Merlin's wounds, now freely bleeding again, as he carefully rolled him onto his side. There was no dressing for the wounds, no yarrow to staunch the bleeding, no supplies at all. Arthur knew he would have to cauterize the wounds to keep Merlin from bleeding to death. Who knew if there was any internal injury? He fervently hoped it was just flesh wounds.

Arthur began sterilizing his knife, then remembered that Merlin had to have his own on him. A quick search located it, and it joined his in the fire. As he made preparations, he asked. “How did this happen, Merlin? I can't remember a thing, I don't even know where we are. Who shot you?”

“You don't... remember the... apparition?”

Arthur frowned at Merlin's evading his question with another. Then memory trickled in... an apparition? 

Slowly, very slowly, a horrific image began reasserting its place in his memory. The storm had hit its climax, the wind screaming through the trees, driving the rain horizontally. From the lowering and blackening clouds, he barely remembered seeing a host of riders. All cloaked and hooded, their faces hidden. Their horses were dark, streaming water, and straining as they thundered towards where he and Merlin had halted. Both were transfixed by the sight approaching them. 

Arthur recalled hearing Merlin yelling a loud warning. Arthur’s attention, however, was fixed by the sight of the lead rider. An enormous hooded figure on a black horse, his features covered by the sickly white skull of a deer with an enormous set of antlers. Incongruously, a small mongrel dog sat on the horse's withers, between the rider's arms, rocked to and fro by the frantic galloping, but never falling off.

Thinking hard, he remembered the lead apparition pointing at him, then he remembered no more until he woke up.

“What was that thing? Who were those people? What did they do?” Arthur fired off his questions. “One of them shot you didn't they?”

“Hunting accidents happen,” Merlin replied, beginning to shiver. “That had to be Herla, an old king, and his hunting party.”

“Herla?” Arthur looked confused. “I don't recall a King Herla from around these parts?”

“Because he's not from around these parts,” Merlin gasped. 

“Are you sure they weren't highway robbers?” Arthur scowled, fighting against the black hole where his memory should have been. “After the horses?”

“What? Shooting me and knocking you out?” Merlin asked, eying the fire where the knives where heating up. “Like you'd let someone get that close to you to do that? No... It was Herla.”

“How can you be so sure?” Arthur grumbled, picking up the knives.

“The dog,” Merlin replied.

“You're being infuriatingly vague.”

“You would be too, knowing what's about to happen next,” Merlin said, looking worriedly at the knives in Arthur's hands.

“Need something to bite into?”

“And have you accusing me of screaming like a girl? I'm your servant, remember? Looking after you already makes me want to scream.”

“Merlin...” Arthur growled.

“If you say this is going to hurt you more than me,” Merlin started to say.

Arthur heaved a sigh, kneeling down next to the wounded man, “Ready?”

“Don't try and surprise me again.”

“Merlin? Shut up. We'll talk later.” Arthur said. Merlin offered a weak smile, drew in a breath and nodded.

Arthur didn't blame him for passing out. He was also inordinately proud that Merlin didn't scream, but the groan that did escape his servant's clenched teeth spoke volumes about the depth of pain he was in. At the application of both knives, he involuntarily arched his back before collapsing into unconscious. That had sent a jolt of fear through the prince, until he realized that Merlin was breathing easier. Despite Merlin's appearances and demeanor, Arthur knew he was made of a lot tougher stuff than even some of his knights. 

Knowing he could do nothing more for him, Arthur settled Merlin as best as could be and set about making what he could of their camp. All the while pondering on the sight of the apparition before he had lost a great chunk of his memory. King Herla? He didn't recall ever hearing of a King Herla, or of a hunting party with one. Had they shot Merlin? What did he say about Herla not being from this area? For that matter what was with the dog? 

So many questions. And it would be hours before he would get any answers. 

A search party, upon the return home of both horses, brought help in the form of Gaius and several knights. Tending to a wounded patient had captured all of Gaius's attention and it would be some time before Arthur would have a chance to talk with him. If anyone could recall a King Herla, it would be the old royal physician.

He sat, rested, clean, and dry in Gaius's chambers, next to the bed where Merlin, still blissfully out of it, lay. Gaius was puttering around behind him, mixing up something no doubt, and Arthur never felt more grateful for a warm blazing fire in the hearth. In his hands he studied the two pieces of the arrow, the barbed end having to be dug out of the tree, a testament to the strength of the bowman who had shot it. Pinning a man to a tree was no mean feat. Surviving it was another level all together.

Gaius had been calm and reassuring, praising Arthur for cauterizing the wound under the dreadful circumstances they were under. The storm had lasted days. Wreaking havoc all over the kingdom. Merlin's severe injury was indeed a very lucky flesh wound. The only thing that concerned the physician now was fever and infection and he had gotten enough potions and tinctures into Merlin to prevent much of that from happening.

“It is called,” Gaius said as he sat down opposite the prince, setting a cup of something hot and steaming next to him. “The Wild Hunt.”

Arthur frowned, looking at him, an eyebrow lifted in question. Gaius gave him a ghost of a smirk and nodded. 

“Centuries ago King Herla and his hunting party intruded into the kingdom of a dwarf, hunting a great stag. As they dined on the bounty, the dwarf king appeared, asking to join them for the meal. After eating, Herla was given a small dog by the dwarf king. When Herla's party was ready to depart, the dwarf himself, set the dog on Herla's horse. The dwarf king then revealed who he was pronounced that they had been trespassing in his territory. As punishment, they were doomed to hunt forever so long as the dog remained on Herla's horse. Anyone dismounting would die and anyone being selected by Herla was doomed to join it. Making matters even more complicated, the Wild Hunt only appears in tremendous storms.”

“By Herla's selection would that mean being pointed at by Herla?” Arthur asked.

“Yes.”

“He pointed at me, why wasn't I in that hunt?”

“I don't know, Arthur. Maybe Merlin did something to prevent you from being taken. My guess is that he may have diverted Herla's attention and got shot for his efforts. He very well may have saved your life, besides you saving his.”

“How do we get rid of this Wild Hunt?” Arthur asked. 

Gaius shook his head. “We cannot. Only when the dog jumps down off Herla's horse will the Wild Hunt end.”

Arthur heaved a sigh, setting the arrow pieces aside. “And this still doesn't explain the memory loss. Why can't I remember what happened when that thing pointed at me?”

“Perhaps its best not to know?” Gaius asked softly. Arthur glanced at him, long and hard, then seemed to acquiesce to his wisdom. “Arthur, go and get some sleep. Its been a very long couple of days. He's not going anywhere.” Gaius nodded at Merlin.

“Perhaps you're right...” Arthur sighed and climbed stiffly to his feet, appalled at how sore he had become. “If he wakes up soon, send someone to get me.”

“As you wish.” Gaius said, seeing the Prince out the door. Upon the door shutting Gaius turned and saw Merlin slowly blinking his eyes open.

“How long...” Gaius started as he made his way to Merlin's side. “How much did you just hear?”

“Almost all of it.” Merlin said thickly. Gaius spent a few moments helping get water into him and resettling him on the cot. 

“Did that apparition point at Arthur?” Gaius asked. Merlin nodded, blinking his eyes lazily. He knew Gaius had doped him up with something to make him drowsy. 

“So what did you do to stop him from being taken into the Wild Hunt?”

“I didn't, he was taken, I had to do something to get him out of the hunt.” Merlin said. 

Gaius' eye narrowed as his opposite eyebrow rose in querulous inquiry. “Anyone taken into the hunt never comes back, Merlin, what did you do?”

“I had to, you know, use a bit of magic.”

“And?!” Gaius demanded, irritated. 

“I became the prey, they hunted me long enough for me to formulate a plan to get Arthur out of that hunt. He wasn't dead, like the other riders, so I knew if I could get one thing to happen, it might just release Arthur from the spell.”

“What did you do!?” Gaius asked. 

“Convinced the dog to get down. Unfortunately, Arthur loosed the arrow at the same time the dog hopped off the horse and well...” Merlin offered him a weak grin, “Here I am!”

Gaius looked at him in exasperation. “How... How did you get the dog to get off the horse?!”

“I just called for it. Hopped right off.”

“No magic?” Gaius protested in disbelief.

“Well, I, uuh, I sorta looked like the dwarf king at the time. At least to the dog's eyes. To the rest of that hunting party I know I must have looked like a bloody great stag!”

“How sure are you that Arthur didn't see what you did?” Gaius asked, a mixture of exasperation and relief in his voice.

“He doesn't remember a thing.”

“You're damned lucky, boy!” Gaius remonstrated gently. “You could have been killed!”

Merlin's lips quirked in a slight smile, as he gave up the battle to open his eyes. “I know when my time is,” he murmured, strangely reassuring. “It's just damned inconvenient -not to mention painful as hell- when things like this happen.”

Gaius just heaved a sigh, shaking his head, then reached up and patted Merlin's shoulder gently. “Sleep, son. You've deserved at least that.”

*

When Merlin roused himself again, many, many hours later, he focused on Arthur, sitting perched on the edge of a stool next to his cot. Hands clenched together, Arthur had his elbows braced on his knees and he thoughtfully tapped his lips with his index fingers. His gaze flicked towards Merlin, who slowly opened his eyes, looking around the room.

Merlin's eyebrow lifted in query as he looked at the thoughtful Prince.

“It was me, wasn't it?” Arthur asked softly. 

“Nawwww...” Merlin, shook his head. 

“You're a lousy liar, Merlin.” Arthur grumbled, then dropped his hands, leaning forward. “I may not remember everything but I am not a total idiot. It had to be me. I was caught in that hunt, yet somehow I survived. As the only living being in that wild ride I had to have been the one to be able to shoot that arrow.”

Merlin didn't reply, he just smirked ever so slightly. “Can't keep much past you...” he murmured.

Arthur shook his head. “How did I survive though, Merlin? What really happened?”

“How should I know?” Merlin asked. “Perhaps you hitting the target was enough to release you from the curse? You know, successful hunter and all?”

Arthur just sat back and heaved a sigh of irritation. “You're saying you were the prey then?

“Had to be someone...” Merlin responded with a shrug. “I was the only thing available. No decent stag would have been caught out in a storm like that. Just us foolish mortals.”

Arthur shook his head in exasperation, sighing. “Only you would make light of a situation like this!”

“At least I am on this side of the world to be able to make light of it.” Merlin retorted. “Next time listen when I warn you a storm is coming.”

Arthur shot a frighteningly similar glare of reproach, complete with a dead on mimicry of Gaius's forbidding eyebrow, at Merlin.

Merlin just smiled back at him.

Arthur looked away, shaking his head as a smile appeared on his lips. He levered himself up off the stool. “Get some rest, you're chores are backing up. You'll need your strength.”

“Oh lovely...” Merlin replied.

Arthur turned towards him as he paused by the door. Before he could even speak, Merlin said it for him.

“There's no need to apologize, Arthur. How were you to know you were the one firing the arrow? It really doesn't matter anyway. What matters is how grateful I am you were there to help when it came time to deal with the results.”

Arthur paused a moment, then glanced back at Merlin. “You're welcome...”

“Besides, “ Merlin shrugged, “It's not everyday a servant thanks his master for shooting him with a bloody great big arrow. Must have felt good, eh?”

_“Merlin!”_


End file.
